


Should Have Gotten More Whiskey

by kissesntea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Dean blows him off, And apparently it finally boiled over, And they fight, Angst, Anyway I haven’t seen the last 2 episodes, Basically Cas tells Dean about Jack, But only a little i think, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Gen, God the last time I wrote fic it was fucking Drarry what the hell, Hopeful Ending, I haven’t written fic since middle school, I honestly can’t believe I wrote this, I think I just see it because I wrote it and I ship them, I would say Destiel If You Squint, I’m tired of them not talking about their feelings so I made them talk about their feelings, I’ve just been extremely mad about Dean’s writing since before the break, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, Kinda, Post-Episode: s15e15 Gimme Shelter, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Sam Winchester is So Done, Should probably give y’all some real tags, So from the author’s perspective Destiel exists in this, So this is based on the ending of 15x15 and some tags I saw on a 15x16 fix-it I didn’t read, and this is the aftermath, but I don’t think that’s actually true, but it’s in no way relevant to anything at all, i guess, i guess?, idk you tell me, that’s it that’s the fic, uhhh, what is my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesntea/pseuds/kissesntea
Summary: Sam throws his hands in the air, spinning on his heels in frustration before whirling back around to shove his finger angrily in Dean’s face. “You know what? No. I’m fucking done with this. We’re doing this now.”Sam corners Dean for a Talk about Jack. It’s time.(In other words, I have some Questions about Dean’s choices, so I made Sam ask them.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 53





	Should Have Gotten More Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, so this is quite literally the first fic I’ve written in 15 years. Sometimes the showrunners fuck up someone’s characterization and writing a Tumblr meta rant just isn’t enough, ya know? This has been percolating in my head since Jack got his soul back and at 3am today it finally decided to be ready, I guess, so...enjoy? 
> 
> I’m 2 episodes behind (15x15 was the last I saw) because life, so just imagine nothing after Gimme Shelter is real.

“When are you gonna forgive Jack?”

Dean goes still where he’s putting dishes back in the cupboards. It’s late; he had waited until he could eat in peace, now that everyone has finished scavenging dinner and retreated to their separate corners for the night. Or at least, he thought they had. Apparently Sam decided to stick around and tap dance on his last nerve.

“I’m not doing this with you, Sam.” Cas is still insistent on finding a way to defeat Chuck without sacrificing the kid, is probably shaking down some monster or shaman or guru or some shit for intel right now, but Dean is a realist. He thought Sam, at least, understood the stakes.

“The hell you aren’t. He’s our kid, Dean. We’re not just going to let him kill himself. Jesus, you’d think after all this time you’d know how badly self-sacrifice turns out in this family.” Apparently not. 

“Billie says it’s the only way. She’s got the super secret fate books, man. It’s her way or No More Highways Because God Fucking Nukes All Of Existence. This is it, this is our play. It’s the only one we’ve got.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Dean. We both know this isn’t about Billie, this is about you. This is about you being stuck so far up your ass your  _ son _ thinks he needs to _die_ to win back your approval, and I’m fucking tired of this game. When are you going to grow up and get over yourself?”

Dean can’t deal with this right now. He needs this conversation to end, yesterday. “We’re out of whiskey. I gotta head into town and restock tonight. You need anything?”

Sam throws his hands in the air, spinning on his heels in frustration before whirling back around to shove his finger angrily in Dean’s face. “You know what? No. I’m fucking done with this. We’re doing this now.”

“So that’s a no on the booze, then?”

“Sit down and shut up, asshole. I’m so fucking tired of your shit. You’re not the angsty 26 year old who dragged me out of school anymore, Dean. You’re a grown ass adult, you’re a fucking parent, and I’m done, I’m  _done_ , tiptoeing around you like an honest conversation will melt your skin off. It’s been 15 fucking years of the Dean Winchester Emotional Repression Circus and I won’t do it anymore.” He puffs out his chest, crosses his eyes, and lowers his voice comically. “ _Ooh, I’m Dean, I don’t have feelings except for alcoholism and a borderline sexual attachment to my car, if I eat something besides burgers or pie my dick might fall off, oooh! _ Enough! You’re 41 goddamn years old, we’ve both been to Hell and back, literally and more than once, we’ve lost more family than we’ve got left, and the fucking world is about to end for real this time, it’s  _enough_! We’re going to talk like adults and we’re goddamned well gonna do it right now!” He slumps into the chair he pulled out for Dean at the beginning of his tirade, breathing heavily and glaring at Dean from under his ridiculous mop.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sammy. This thing with Jack and Billie is just the way things are. It’s rough, but we’ve sucked it up our whole lives, dunno why it would change now.” He crosses his arms where he’s leaning against the counter and looks away from his brother, dishes abandoned behind him. 

“I want you to tell me why the hell you’re still giving Jack a hard time! I want you to tell me why you’d sell your soul to save anyone in our family but Jack doesn’t warrant even a glance through the lore for another way!” Sam gets louder on every word, until he’s shouting again, deafening in the small kitchen, and Dean can’t fucking take this anymore. He snaps.

“He killed Mom, Sam!” Ok, well, that outburst wasn’t exactly what he had planned for this conversation, but it’s out there now, he supposes. Might as well run with it. “He fucking murdered our mother, how are you ok with that?”

It earns him Bitchface #42,  _I Can’t Believe I Though You Were Smarter Than This_.  It’s not one of his favorites. “First of all, he didn’t do that at all, Dean, and you know it. It was an accident. He’s a three-year old with enough power to kill God, and he got angry for a  _second. One second_.  You know he loved Mom as much as we did, he would never have hurt her on purpose. Stop being so fucking dramatic. Second—“

“ _Dramatic_?!  I’m being dramatic about our  _ mother _ being violently killed,  _again_? Real nice, Sam.”

“ _Second_ ,  he had no soul! Because, by the way, he burned it off for _us._ To save _us!_ And the moment he got it back he was devastated about what happened. You of all people should know that people can’t be fully responsible for their actions without their souls. It barely took you an hour to forgive me for all the shit I pulled!”

Dean cringes internally. He should have known Sammy would pull the ‘I was soulless too’ card eventually. Honestly he was mostly just hoping it didn’t come up. “That’s different, Sammy.” He goes back to putting the dishes away so he doesn’t have to see the incredulous look that earns him. 

“ _How?! _ How on Earth is it different? Why the fuck do I get a pass and he doesn’t?” Dean doesn’t have an answer for him besides the nebulous feeling of grief and betrayal that’s been eating through his gut for a year, but it doesn’t seem like Sam actually needs his input at this juncture, anyway. “No, you know what? You’re right. It is different. I was  _worse_.  Jack killed Mom by accident, because he was upset and scared. Of fucking  _ Satan_, his shitty abusive dad who almost didn’t stay dead. Me? I was about 2 minutes from intentionally murdering Bobby in a ritual sacrifice when you and Cas put my soul back. On purpose! You remember Bobby, right? Our surrogate dad? The guy who practically raised us, who gave us the only real glimpses of childhood we ever got after Mom died? Who was there for us for a lot more than four fucking years? The only consistent parental influence you ever had who wasn’t dragging you around the country chasing ghosts instead of taking care of his kids? That Bobby? You forgave me instantly, Dean. Even Bobby was over it in a couple of weeks, and I stalked him in his own damn home. Why is it ok for me to try and kill our parent while I’m soulless but Jack lashing out because he’s hurt can never be forgiven?”

“Because Mom died, Sam! Because you never killed Bobby, but Mom is dead! Again! We got her back and now she’s gone just like before except this time we both have to remember what it was like when she wasn’t!”

It’s quiet for long enough that Dean looks up, if only to see if Sam is still sitting there. When he meets Sam’s eyes again, they’re sad. 

“You know, it’s funny. I still don’t really think of Mom and Mary as the same person.” He runs a hand through his hair. God, Dean thinks, I gotta take some clippers to this kid while he’s asleep. “I mean, intellectually I know they are, she was, obviously. It’s just...” He sighs. “I never knew Mom, you know? She was this vague outline of a concept, just an idea of this beautiful, perfect, domestic angel.” 

Dean snorts, mostly at the idea of an angel being described as “perfect” or “domestic.” Maybe Cas, he thinks, but he’s about as far from perfect as Dean himself, and he still hasn’t really gotten the hang of human domesticity. He does love his peanut butter sandwiches, though, even though they still taste like molecules. 

Sam chuckles before continuing. “I know that if it wasn’t for me, or I guess Azazel and Lucifer and,” he waves his hand vaguely at the world around him, “that she would still be alive, that she probably never would have gotten back into hunting, none of us would, and maybe we’d be a nice apple pie family, but, it’s like...” He breaks off again, seemingly frustrated. With himself or the situation or both, Dean can’t tell. “It’s like that world, that version of us, it’s not real. This is real. This is where we ended up, and here...here Mary wasn’t Mom, she was my friend. My hunter friend. Family, absolutely, you know I loved her, but it’s not like we haven’t lost hunter friends, or family, before. It’s hard for me to make losing her feel different to losing Charlie, or Kevin, or Pamela or Ellen or Jo, or anyone else we’ve ever had to burn. Hell, even losing Bobby hurt more, like losing Dad did. Like losing you did, every time. Because those were me losing a parent. Mary didn’t feel like that. Not for me, anyway.”

He looks up again, and this time his eyes are glistening. Fucking chick flick moments. This is why Dean should have gone to get that damn whiskey. 

“I know it’s different for you. I know you lost something I didn’t this time around. If it was you Jack killed, even by accident, I guess I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t be just as angry and stuck as you are. But Dean, this isn’t good for you either. It’s killing you, I know it is. I can see it, we all can. He’s so sorry, Dean. He’s so sorry and scared and he misses you so much. I know you miss him too. He needs to know, or he’s going to go through with this and we’re going to lose him, _again_. Please, man, I don’t want to lose our kid again.”

Dean stares at the tiles, silent. He’s been silent a long time, it feels like. He wonders vaguely where Sam learned how to talk for so long about feelings crap. It sure as hell wasn’t from him or Dad, he knows that much. Damn liberal college education. Still, maybe he has a point. He’s past 40, now. Honestly, he never expected to live this long at all, but now that he has, maybe it’s time to consider loosening the reins on his emotional crap. Not too much, but maybe he’s allowed to have  _ some _ feelings, now that he’s middle aged, and all. Just a couple, though. He’s not a fucking girl. 

Huh. Maybe Dad fucked him up more than he thought. 

“I don’t know if we can fix it, Sammy.” His voice is quieter than he intended, but that’s probably good. Jack’s room is a ways away from the kitchen but the last thing he needs is for the kid to overhear what he has to say with his super angel baby hearing or whatever. 

“I don’t know if there’s another way, and if I stop being angry with him, and he dies anyway...if I lose him again...” He scrubs his hand over his face. So much for softening up in his old age; he can’t even get a whole sentence out without his throat closing up. 

Sam seems to get the gist, anyway. “I get it. It’s easier to be angry than to be scared or sad, but, Dean, he needs you. He needs his dad. Dads. All of us. Do you really want him to die thinking you hate him? I know how hard this is, better than anyone in the universe, but we’re parents, Dean. We have to start putting him first, even when it sucks.” 

“I never asked for this. I never asked to be a parent. I knew I was gonna be shit at it, why do you think I had Cas scrub Lisa and Ben’s memories? No one is better off with me for a dad.”

“I was.” Dean looks up in surprise. He’s not sure why, this isn’t even the first time Sam has referred to Dean as his parent in this conversation, much less over the years, but for some reason he’s still taken aback that his brother seems glad to have been raised by a snot-nosed brat with a bad attitude who could barely reach the stove. “I was, Dean. I know our childhood sucked, and we went hungry more than we didn’t, and we never had a real home or had any real friends or stayed in one school for a whole year. I know you thought I hated it. And I did, for the most part. It was terrible, neither of us should have been in that situation. Dad should never have put us in that situation. But I know it was a thousand times worse for you than it was for me. I got to eat almost every night, you made sure of that. I had time to do my homework and play with my imaginary friend and whine about why we didn’t get to have real holidays. I got to do all that stuff,because of you. I got to be a kid, because of you. Because you traded your childhood for mine. You’ve been a dad since you were four years old, Dean. And you’ve always been good at it. With me, with Ben, and now with Jack. If you would just talk to him, anyway.”

Dean feels like his chest is caving in, a little. He wonders, a little hysterically, if this is what Sam felt when he had his lungs vanished from his chest. He’s right, he knows he’s right, but God, he hates it. Hates this. Anger protects him. Anger has always protected him, always shielded him from the pain this goddamn fucked up storybook carousel of a life Chuck shoehorned them into has tried to heap on him, and he’s terrified to give it up now. Sam’s right though, he’s long past the point of having a real reason to be angry. And Jack deserves better from him, even if he would be better off with a different dad altogether. At least he’s got Sam and Cas. The kid doesn’t exactly have a shortage of parents. 

He takes a deep breath, rubbing his temple to try and stave off the headache he knows is coming. He really wishes he’d made it to the liquor store tonight. “I’ll try, Sammy, ok? I’ll talk to him in the morning, and I promise I’ll try.” 

“That’s all I’m asking, man. Thank you. I know it hasn’t been exactly easy for you either.”

He knows Sam is being nice, being helpful, but Dean has officially reached his limit for feelings talk. “I’m gonna go to bed, Sammy. It’s late. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

He thinks about praying to Cas, letting him know he’s trying to step up and be there for Jack, but brushes the idea off. He’ll be back eventually, they can talk then. It’s hardly anything for him to come rushing back over. Anyway, they didn’t exactly part on the best terms this time, again. Just another relationship Dean has fucked up. He’s not sure why he bothers trying, except that Sam won’t let him stop. Clearly. Tonight is evidence enough of that. 

He sighs again, squeezing his eyes shut in the darkness of his room. The memory foam is as comfortable as always, but sleep isn’t coming as easily as it usually does here. He rolls over, burritoing himself further into his blankets. Fuck this. He’s going to sleep if it kills him. Wouldn’t Chuck just love that, he thinks. Dean Winchester, protagonist extraordinaire, dead at 41 in his comfy ass bed, no monsters in sight. Take that, you scruffy sadistic bastard. 

His heartbeat gradually slows down, and his limbs finally feel a bit heavier. Tomorrow, he thinks. I’ll do better in the morning. I’ll try harder tomorrow. 

He sleeps. 

**Author's Note:**

> So there you go, I guess. I mostly just needed this out of my brain so I could sleep but maybe someone else will get a little joy out of it, too. 
> 
> Anyway I don’t really have anything to plug, but if y’all wanna hang out with me on Tumblr feel free, I suppose. I honestly don’t talk about spn much on there, or at all, really, but if you like reblogs about politics and ATLA I’m your genderfluid pal. dreamofbecoming.tumblr.com.
> 
> Thanks for reading my brain vomit


End file.
